


The Best Gifts Of All

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Just a quick stop for cash, just a few little items Goniff wanted to give the guys for Christmas, an errand or two for her brothers, some tidbits for her own holiday baskets - what was so difficult about that??  After all the misunderstandings have been sorted out, all the miscreants roped and tied, the gifts given and appreciated, there is still time to relax and contemplate perhaps the best gifts of all.





	The Best Gifts Of All

"There's a limit of 'ow much I can ask of you."

"Aye, that's true, love, I'm sure; virgin sacrifice at the next full moon is pretty much out of the question, for example," laughing at the expression on his face, "but you've not come anywhere close to a limit yet, nor likely to, and this little bit of an errand will be a pleasure for me. Don't worry, I'll let you know if you ever do approach that line," brushing a light kiss across his cheek, knowing, trying to let him know just how unlikely that would be.

Goniff's slightly embarrassed look changed to one of relief. What the two of them shared at the Cottage was one thing, since it seemed to him they came together as equals in her mind, and he accepted that though he didn't truly understand it, but asking her for favors, well, that made him feel just a little awkward, like it was putting things out of balance somehow. Not that she seemed to mind; in fact, she seemed to rather like being asked, like now.

Still, other than keeping an eye on the Cottage and the gardens if she was called away, there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do extra for her, and there were plenty of times he couldn't even do that, what with the team being called away so much or the Mansion being on one of the heavier lockdowns he thought it best to abide by. Most of his very meager pay was sent home to his Mum and Aunt Moll to keep things from being so hard on them, leaving pretty much just enough for drinks every now and again at the pub, treating Meghada when she was also in residence and able to join them. Luckily, the military allottment included a pack of cigarettes a day, otherwise he'd have to be choosing between his two main vices.

Well, Meghada was the third, not necessarily in that order, but included as a vice, to his way of thinking. After all, that's what a vice was, wasn't it? Something you're probably not supposed to be having but have decided you needed in order to make it through anyhow? Something you indulged in even when the rules said you shouldn't? Well, for him, she qualified, and he wasn't sure he'd ever expected that to happen, not to him. He thought again of what remained in his pocket to last him til the next payday rolled around, and it was damned little, certainly not enough for what he intended.

Of course, there was the stash each of the team was squirreling away, slightly ill-gotten gains from things snaffled on the missions. Most items were liquidated, the proceeds split between them. If anyone wanted to keep anything special, they traded for it, made up for it next time around. They'd voted not long ago to start setting aside a fifth share, for the Warden for after the war; he didn't know about it, of course, and he might not accept it, even then, but they were starting to feel bad about not sharing with him. But all that aside, Goniff didn't keep any of that HERE, him not feeling any too sure the military wouldn't up and move them somewhere else, maybe him not coming back from a mission, whatever, and besides, not wanting to draw attention by flashing monies he'd have no good reason to be having. No, his money stash, like the others, it was in a special account in Switzerland, all arranged by Actor who had contacts there.

It said a lot, that they let him make the arrangments, trusted in what he told them; yeah, he annoyed them plenty of times with his ways, but at heart, he was their brother and they trusted him more than they'd trust anyone outside their close group. Still, that left Goniff with no ready cash and only those two or three fancy pieces he'd snaffled over the past several missions, had traded for and hadn't fenced yet; those stayed in Meghada's wall safe at the Cottage. He had the combination for that, too, she'd given him that, though he pretty well knew what others might think of her doing so; but his 'Gaida, she was a law unto herself and didn't care so much about others opinions nor appreciate their expressing them either.

His gift for HER, well, that was already arranged, but it was elsewhere. She wasn't much for glitteries, or perfume or much else of the fripperies a woman might be thought to have a fancy for, except when on a mission and that wasn't anything enjoyable, just what was needful. Still, a couple of months ago, he'd spotted something that made him think of her, something he thought she'd like and brought it home. He'd picked up a few extra bits and bobs for the guys to keep it all right and tight, but that special piece had been hidden away. It hadn't gone to his fence, but to Mrs. Wilson to keep safe for him, and if the old washer woman had thought it a rather odd thing, she'd been willing enough, her having a liking for Meghada and possibly for him as well. And Mrs. Wilson had some plants in her garden that he knew Meghada didn't have, and he'd arranged with her months before to start cuttings for him. He'd done a couple of rather odd favors for her in return, and they were both well pleased with their bargain. Together, those things would be his gift to her, and he couldn't wait to see her reaction. 

Goniff pulled his mind back to the matter at hand, which was asking her to fence one of those shiny baubles on her trip to London, and do a little shopping for him, bringing back some of the ready to keep for him against future need, leaving another bit in a old safe-place of his that he'd kept in London, just in case. He was now a strong believer in just-in-case plans, those having brought them back from many a mission that wouldn't have gone so well otherwise. They hadn't had leave for quite awhile and from the looks of it, a break wasn't coming anytime soon. Christmas was right around the corner, and while there were no assurances they would even be at the Mansion then, well, he wanted to do something for his teammates. For some reason, that was important this year, really important.

This was the first year they'd become family to him, much more than just friends, though that wasn't something he went around saying. Still it was true, and he pretty well knew what he wanted for each of them, but here he was, stuck with no way of getting to where he could accomplish what he needed to, and in one case, no knowledge of where to go for what he had in mind. Chief had saved his life, that last trip out; he'd not have come back at all without the Indian risking his own life, getting bunged up to make that happen. They'd been crouched in that miserable wet hole, and he'd been tending Chiefy's wound and wanted to say Thank You, started to say he owed him, when the look in the Indian's eyes, and little half-smile told him that what he'd been thinking recently, about the guys and the team, well it was true - they were family, brothers, and even in the biting cold he'd felt warm, well, inside anyway. He wanted something very special for Chiefy, and his 'Gaida said she knew someone who specialized in what he was looking for, and he trusted her to pick out just the right thing.

"The pop shop, well, it's a small place so as not to draw attention, but 'e 'andles lotsa the good stuff. A big bloke, 'e is, black as the ace of spades, long scar right along 'ere," Goniff motioned to the side of his throat. "Tell 'im 'acey ducey Kingsport', 'e'll remember, know you're from me and not skin you too much." He looked at her serene face and tilted his head, "you're sure you're alright with walking into a pop shop? Aint a bad part a town, just ain't really a place for a . . ."

She laughed and shook her head at him, "if you're going to say it's no place for a lady, then I just might have to rap you upside your head, you know?" reaching out one hand to give him the tiniest of flicks of one finger teasingly on that flaxen hair. "Nigh on all the places I end up are 'no place for a lady', not that I've ever claimed to be one."

"You're MY lady," and he nuzzled her once again, using one wiry leg around the back of her thighs to bring her even closer, running his thumb over that piece of bronze metal, an oddity that had shocked him the first time he saw it, but now seemed to be just right for her; he liked that it was something HE knew about, had the freedom to run his fingers over whenever he took the notion when they were together like this. He looked at her a bit shyly, waiting to see how she'd take that out and out declaration.

Her quiet smile was his answer, along with her soft and fervent, "aye, love, that I am," and her lips moved from his shoulder, up along his long neck to just under his ear, before they traveled back to his mouth. He pulled her down closer; she was supposed to be away for four or five days this time, London then Scotland and Wales and back again, and he hoped he'd still be here when she got back.

{"Seems anymore four or five days away, well, that's four or five days more than I'm 'appy about,"} he thought to himself ruefully. He didn't worry about her, at least not TOO much; the Dragon was quite capable of taking care of herself in most situations, and this was all just personal stuff, a little shopping, visiting with some friends and family, nothing like a mission, but he knew, maybe better than most, that some situations could change, could become a challenge for even the best and most capable.

Looking back, Meghada thought it rather ironic just how far she'd made it before trouble hit, and that when it came it was none of her own making; that she'd made it to London, made the stop at the very discreet pawn shop and successfully completed the negotiations with the very large Alphonse, a product of immigration from one of the Moorish countries a generation or so back. While Alphonse was curious about the young woman bringing him that rather interesting piece of glittery, the password did the trick, and she could see him relax just a bit. The next words, though, told her he was not quite ready to accept her, not just yet.

"Ah, yes, the tall blond gentleman. I remember him, such lovely dark blue eyes he had; quite a large man, but graceful in spite of it." He smiled at her warmly and graciously.

"Blond, certainly, though his eyes must have lightened considerably since you've last seen him. And also graceful at times, not withstanding his occasional tendency to trip over dust on the ground! But a big man, certainly," and she watched as his eyes flattened though the expression on his face didn't change, and she smiled, "in many ways, though not in stature or bulk. Here, without a doubt," laying her closed fist over her heart. And his dark eyes shifted again, and now there was true warmth, not the pale imitation of before, and amusement.

He chuckled and nodded, "and what is it that my old friend wishes of me, of this piece?" and she told him, and they bargained in good spirits, each enjoying the process immensely, her pointing out the fine points (inventing a few that were so far off mark that he knew she wasn't intending to deceive but amuse him, including praising the exceptionally fine briolette cut of the central stone - a stone obviously cut in the marquise style, not in the more intensely faceted briolette form), him painstakingly pointing out the flaws (him in his turn inventing, stretching the truth, and coming up with something most jewelers were seemingly unaware of - that sapphires just weren't all that well-favored among the precious stones due to their softness, that if the jeweler had just used tormaline instead, now that would have made it truly valuable!).

They nodded knowledgeably to each other, catching those little sparks in each others eyes at the totally outrageous lies and exaggerations, and the time passed most enjoyably. He offered her hot mint tea and tiny pastries, which she partook of with pleasure and her sincere thanks. An offer to view his wares was accepted and she made a couple of purchases she had not intended to make, including a wide bronze armband large enough to fit snugly on her upper arm and a red amber carving of an attacking wolf she though her father would appreciate. Neither were greatly expensive but both appealed to her on the instinctive level, and for those pieces she made no attempt to haggle but paid the full price. She knew she would be recommending Alphonse to her family; it seemed he had quite an eye.

She left the shop, funds tucked tightly in the pouch under her shirt; he took another look at the quite fine piece of museum quality goods she'd left with him and slid it into a small box and down the hidden cubby chute that would send the piece into his shop below. He looked at her through the window as she walked away, seemingly secure even in this rather chancy part of town, nestled as it was between the rich inhabitants who were often 'needy' of trading their high-class valuables for a bit of the ready, and the poor and truly needy. {"Next time we meet, old friend, I think you need to be telling me about her; something even more rare than that fine piece of glittery you sent with her, if I'm reading her right. Now just how did you manage that, I wonder?"}

She made it to the small hospital where her brothers made good use of their time and skills, leaving the envelope with a goodly portion of the money inside for her brother to keep in safety for her. In fact, she'd made it all the way through her rounds, next dropping off that just-in-case packet in the appointed spot; somehow a Chinese laundry wasn't what she'd been expecting, but the tiny cubbies in that unbelievably ornate red and gilt room behind the drab exterior were certainly well hidden, (finding one tiny depression in a room of red on red on red alternated with gold, molding by the thousand foot, well, if anyone found Goniff's stash, either they knew where it was located already or were just miraculously lucky!). The man in the front had been quite happy to pass her through once she'd given him the appropriate password and the folded bills Goniff had indicated she'd need.

She left, satisfied that his stash was as safe as it reasonably could be, and proceeded with getting what else she was looking for, some things from the speciality shops, a couple from the warehouses, one item from a craftsman frequented by those of her family, one known to do extremely reliable work. Marik worked out of a tailor shop, though his goods were something quite different than what the sign outside read; she'd been delighted with what she'd found there, thought it was just what Goniff had in mind, and the craftsman was delighted as well, to deliver such a creation into the hands of one who truly appreciated the artistry involved in the making. The Clan was always a welcome customer there.

She even made it to HQ, where her bundles were offered safe storage by the new temporary Aide for Special Forces while she spent an hour or so with Major Kevin Richards and Alex Ainsley, an offer she laughingly refused, "thank you, but no. You don't need my things cluttering up your space, and I've a thing or two in here I'd like to get the Major's opinion on!" It was more polite than telling him, "I don't know you from Adam and trust you accordingly!" She was gradually learning to be more subtle, at Kevin Richards' insistence, and truly felt she was making some progress.

She took some grief when she carried the three shopping bags in with her, some serious teasing about that being the first sign of her being a typical female that either of them had seen, her buying out the shops. She took it in good humor, though she gave Ainsley a frown when he snatched one bundle and decided to open it.

"Alex, be careful . . ." she started to say when he yelped, "damn, it bit me!" and Richards laughed.

"Don't you know what happens around her when you start putting your hands where they don't belong?" he teased, and Ainsley glared at him, "yeah, but I didn't know it included her shopping too!"

She shook her head at them, "it includes just about everything about me; now hand that back," and she unwrapped the bundle to be sure there were no traces of blood marring the elegant set of three throwing blades, three shooting stars, six 3" throwing points, the expanding ceratai. Weapons of this nature were traditionally to be blooded only by the new owner, ceremoniously, so that they would truly 'belong' to him, though there were one or two acceptable alternatives. From the looks of it, the special services officer had merely cut his finger on the folded paper around one of the shooting stars.

She frowned at Ainsley, "they are alright; be glad, Alex; I'd not be pleased if you'd gotten your blood on them and I had to search out another set! These are custom made and quite hard to come by." The two men were rather taken aback at her seriousness, and managed to control their curiosity about the strange weapons; and to prevent any further mischief, she tucked the pieces into the separate leather case she'd purchased, that hand-tooled by Marik's brother, and placed it deep in one of the bags, wrapped in the warm woolen scarf enfolded there.

After their meeting, during which she was given a shot of adequate bourbon and a sandwich which she gratefully accepted and even graciously refrained from asking which brand of jeep tires the sandwich had been made from, she took her three bags and headed out, now back to the hospital, where she dropped off two of the bags, having completed the shopping errands Patrick and Michael and James had asked of her. She wasn't accustomed to running errands for her brothers or her brother-in-law, but from the looks of things, they were getting even less free time and rest than the men at the Mansion were getting, unless the haggard, unwashed and unshaven look was the new 'in' thing for the medical profession, which she rather doubted.

She made it almost back to her vehicle when they were on her, and while she could pretty well take care of herself, well, she was encumbered, embarrassingly offguard, and the odds were just too great, and a blow to the side of the head from a thrown sap took her down hard after she dispensed with three of the seven. She was picked up and thrown into the back of a closed car, her shopping bag and satchel thrown in on top of her. In fact, when she got to the small private house in Cottlington where her captors took her, they threw those items into the musty bedroom along with her then too.

When she came to, one of the first things she did was to check her packages; in fact, she was doing just that when the door clicked open and a bulky man with a neatly trimmed beard stepped in, followed by four others. He looked at her, dazed look in her eyes, blood dripping from her head, surrounded by the various packages, some unwrapped now, noting the items quickly; tins of cookies, a few small wooden crates of dates stuffed with almonds or marzipan, a boxed set of stationery, pouches of tobacco, a fancy silk scarf or two, a few odds and ends. He smiled with amusement at the sight of the stupid woman, in such a dire predicament but so concerned about her shopping!

"Sorry to interrupt your holiday shopping, but I'm afraid it's quite necessary. We shouldn't be holding you too long, I imagine, but we needed to provide some incentive for your young man to cooperate with us. Seems you just might be the ticket, don't you know." He looked at her appraisingly, "now, just what might convince him we mean business, encourage him not to play games with us, hmm? And how do we convince you not to try to go off roaming in the meantime?" He motioned to the quartet, and in the struggle that followed, her clothes were forceably torn away, leaving her only in her undergarments. He moved forward, a deep frown on his face.

"What on earth?" and reached out to investigate further, the others restraining her from pulling away. And he laughed aloud, "yes, that should do nicely, don't you think?" He motioned to one of the men, a swarthy deadfaced brute by the name of Billman, told him what was needed. The man pulled a knife and gathered the proof they would be sending, along with their demands. The only verbal protest he got was a deep snarl with just a faint hiss in the tone. Holding the bloody spoils in his hands, he started to hand them to the leader, who just frowned with distaste at the dripping items and motioned the four men back into the front room, and left her in the cold room.

"No one goes near her, do you hear me? No games! This is too important for you to get distracted til we get what I'm after!" And he went off to prepare the package, the note, and get the mission started.

In the room behind him, Meghada staunched the blood as best as she could, grimly noting she'd have a few purchases to make over again, the beautifully patterned silk and wool scarves in her hand being one of them. She opened one of the tins of cookies for the energy, got to her feet and looked for something, anything she could use to keep the cold away. Now, wrapped in one of the very old and musty quilts from the delapidated bed, she set about retrieving the treasures she'd hidden away before the men had entered the room. She was pretty sure she could escape, but that still left the question unanswered, of why these men had grabbed her, what these men were wanting in exchange. Grimly she made her plans, wishing she knew what was happening on the other end of this mess. Possessing herself in patience was an old habit, one that would stand her in good stead once again.

"What the hell is this?" Garrison wondered, puzzling over the note tucked inside the small box that had just been delivered to him. He handed it over to his second in command, who read it and answered with raised brows.

"The note seems quite self explanatory, Craig. You either bring them the plans for the Dalshire mission or they'll start sending you pieces of her by special delivery. Do I know what the 'Dalshire mission' is?"

That reply got him an exasperated look, "I can read, Actor, and no, you don't know about that particular job, not yet anyway; only a handful of people do. But WHO? Who are they, of course, but more importantly, who are they holding? It can't be Lynn; I spoke with her not twenty minutes ago, and who else . . .?" Actor picked up the medallion that was enclosed with the letter, held it up and frowned in concentration. It was an unusual shape, a flat heavily engraved disc, but with small wings, extensions shaped like a capital i, with a slit in each one as if to allow a band or wide cord to pass through.

"You don't recognize it? But they must have expected you to, and immediately, I would say." He studied it carefully, twisting it one way, then the other, holding it flat to look across the surface, then he looked at Garrison with deep concern.

"You'd best get Goniff in here, the others. If I'm not mistaken, there's the image of a dragon etched below a Celtic circle, and there is blood in some of the lines. And there's something in the cloth below. . ."

"What" Craig asked with apprehension, an apprehension that changed to cold dread as Actor unfolded the material to display the long matted and bloodsoaked lock of hair, deep red even without the dried blood.

"That's 'Gaida's. Where'd you get that, Warden? I've never seen 'er without it," his eyes snapping to the metal piece in Garrison's hand. The man asking the question in the totally flat tone of voice wasn't quite the same as the one who'd entered the room, perhaps in puzzlement, but more than that, someone they'd not seen too often except on missions.

"Perhaps someone stole it from her."

"Warden, you don't understand. She NEVER takes it off. I think maybe you'd 'ave to use a knife to get it off; never seen any other way, though there might be; doubt it'd be convenient on a mission."

He took the medallion from Garrison, ran his thumb over it in a familiar gesture, looked at the box, and saw what else was enclosed, and his face changed even further from the mischiefmaker they all knew to something quite different.

"Just what the ruddy 'ell is going on, Warden??!" and Garrison held out the note.

The flaxen-haired pickpocket read it, then inhaled deeply and lifted his eyes, "first, we get 'er back. Then, you'll explain why they sent this to you. Why they'd assume you'd recognize this, do what they said," and those hazy blue eyes were like ice when they looked at Garrison, and in that instance Garrison was, for the first time, wondering about his own safety around the seemingly most innocuous of his team members, for that look promised nothing good.

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins, just entering the doorway, cleared his throat, not that anyone turned to face him, them being too intent on the tense drama in front of them. He was only glad that the young guard had decided to chatter to him and he'd decided to check on that delivery, though he'd not made it to the Mansion before it had been opened.

"That would seem to 'ave been a misunderstanding at the gate. Private Casserly was on duty when it arrived; 'e's new, just came on board. Jeep pulled up, someone in a Major's uniform 'anded 'im that, told 'im, 'the blond one, give 'im this! It's from the redhaired female that works with them sometimes, right close they are,' and roared off."

That got their attention, and as Rawlins came into the room, he continued quickly, "the Private 'asn't 'ad the pleasure of meeting the O'Donnell miss, and not that many know about the, ah, personal connection between the Mansion and the Cottage, or at least the particulars, but the Private 'AS 'eard about your sister, Lieutenant Garrison. Auburn 'air, red 'air, not all can see that much difference, you know. And the two of YOU both 'aving blond 'air, well, that just complicated it. And with the talk about working with the team, being close, 'e made the wrong assumption about just who to give that package too."

Everyone breathed a little easier as they saw the slender Englishman nod slowly and turn back to Garrison with just as much ice in his eyes, but, as Craig Garrison noted with more than a little unexpected relief, it was no longer directed at him. Goniff felt a similar relief, probably much more so; a betrayal of that sort, well, he didn't want to think about that, not about either of these two he'd become so sure he could trust. A tiny nod of apology, of understanding from each to the other affirmed that all was well between them again.

Actor cleared his throat, "you say they would have had to cut it off. I've never seen it on her, even in the evening dresses she wears when she must, and that short a cord or chain, one that wouldn't fit over her head, would have shown if she wore it as a medallion, I believe. A wrist-band?" and there was a look of almost-amusement in Goniff's face as he replied, "no, not that. She's, well, pierced, it fits through at the sides, 'ere," his nimble fingers touching those winged extensions, and eyebrows lifted almost in unison around the room.

"Pierced? Where??!" and the tracing of the Englishman's fingertips across the lower middle of his abdomen ensured those eyebrows met hairlines.

Garrison's first thought was {"OUCH!!"} His second was realizing just what that initial challenge from his resident pickpocket had meant, {"yeah, I was right about that look! Not that I'd be tempted to try my luck with the Dragon, especially knowing about the two of them, but that look, well, that was enough to change my mind if I HAD been! Probably a question of which one would kill me first!"}

"Definitely a case of mistaken identity in either case, but maybe one we can use."

Sergeant Major Rawlings asked the question, well maybe not so much a question, but stated what was in everyone's mind; "so, 'ow do we get the Miss back, sir?" and the looks of determination were much the same around the room, even if the chill on one expressive face was more intense than the rest.

Garrison's face showed a smile as cold as it could be, "we give them what they're asking for, of course. What else would we do when they have a member of our family?" and equally cold smiles showed the unanimous agreement. He headed out the door, but he paused before he got more than a couple of steps, "are the phone lines clear?" and got an approving look from Actor for his caution.

"Yes, Casino checked just this morning; no one has done any tampering since we removed that last bug."

Rawlings suppressed a groan, {"another surprise! So, we're being bugged, they know it and remove the bugs, and . . ."} He was accustomed to thinking in a straight line; somehow, this assignment with Lieutenant Garrison seemed to call for thinking far more three-dimensionally, and he wasn't overly sure he liked it. And the call was made, a plan put into action, and the team headed for London. 

They knew their way around London HQ pretty well by now, and it took surprisingly little effort to grab the plans in question. The instructions had been simple, and once the plans were in their hands, (and altered sufficiently to make sure they'd be of no use to anyone in case this all went wrong), they made the call, and waited til it was time for the exchange. The only question was, who went in, Garrison or Goniff, since they had no way of knowing which one the kidnappers were expecting, whether the misunderstanding had truly been only on the part of the Mansion guard. A suggestion from Chief drew a grim smile from them all. Yeah, that could work!

Back at the Cottlington house, the leader walked back in, smiling in cold triumph. "Everything is going splendidly!" rubbing his hands together briskly. He looked around, "where is Billman?" The other three gave him sheepish glances, and a glance at the closed door told him what no one said. He scowled, "I thought I told you to stay away from her! This is ticklish enough without such nonsense."

One of the men protested, "she's seen our faces; you didn't intend to let her go anyway."

"No, of course not; but he might insist on seeing her, making sure she's alright, talking to her before he makes the exchange." He looked over his shoulder apprehensively, "well, there's no time to think about it now. He will be here any moment!" He raised his voice, directing it at that closed door. "Billman, get your act together and keep her out of trouble! Be ready to show her at the door if I call for you to."

A knock at the door interruped any further conversation, and one of the men went to unlock it, moving back rapidly so that the three were ringed at the back of their leader.

"Come along in, carefully and very slowly." A slight frown crossed the bulky man's face, "I didn't expect you to bring company," and from the vision line, it was obvious he was speaking to Goniff.

Now they knew who had the lead in this play; that was fine - they'd both had their lines well in place, whichever way it went. He got a tense shrug and a sullen answer, "couldn't hardly ditch 'im, now could I?; couldn't get the plans away without 'im knowing what's going on; 'e went along with it, 'e don't want the woman to get 'urt, but wants to be sure I'm not pulling a fast one."

A slight whisper of sound caught their ears, but they didn't react. Goniff gave a wry glance over at Garrison, and in a mockingly indignant and hurt tone of voice, "don't think 'e quite trusts me, for some reason; ah, the lack of faith in the world today."

Garrison snarled over at him, "alright, cut the wisecracks. You and your fooling around's what got us all in this bind in the first place. If you'd stuck to the girls at the pub, like the others, we wouldn't be in this mess, but no! YOU have to . . ." and without a pause, without a flicker to indicate any such intentions, the two blond men threw themselves to either side, drawing their weapons as they did so, three others appearing behind them at a crouch.

The three men in the rear were down, permanently. The leader was also down, a bullet through each shoulder, but kept alive to talk if that was still required. He lay there, stunned, and none of the faces looking down at him boded well for him. The only faint hope he had now was Billman, he though to himself, {"bet the coward is halfway to Newstead by now!"}

The door to the bedroom opened behind him, and a body thrown onto the floor beside him let him know that Billman was NOT on his way to Newstead, not on his way to anywhere in fact, either or rather, any part of him, and it looked like there would be at least some difficulty involved in putting him back together again.

Casino snickered to himself, {"Humpty Dumpty, all right!"}

A low husky voice greeted them warmly, "ie, lads, it's glad I am to see you! Dismal place for a party, I must say. No decorations, no libations, no refreshments. My apologies. I'll do better by you next time, I promise," and they looked at the extremely bedraggled figure leaning against the doorjam. Her hair was caught in a clumsy braid to one side, one lock shorn close against her skull, the whole mass stiffened and thick with dried blood, with more blood smeared across the side of her face, and spread across the front of the makeshift tunic and kilt she'd made from the ancient quilt.

Goniff and Actor headed toward her as one, Goniff pulling her close, tilting her chin side to side to look more closely. He glanced down and pulled the bloody weapon from her hand, "I'll take that, for safekeeping, luv. Looks like you've 'ad yourself a bit of a party yourself," his voice low and more raspy even than usual. She nodded and leaned wearily into his shoulder.

"Here, Meghada, let me take a look," Actor urged her, and pulled her back into the bedroom, though with a quick look at his teammate. He wasn't sure just how Goniff would react to that, not right now, and was relieved to get just a level look and a brief nod as the pickpocket put his lady into the hands of the designated medic of their group.

Some fast temporary repairs, then to that small hospital for some a little more complete, then home. Home to a bowl of hot soup, a warm bed, with Sheila Riley firmly ensconced in the next room despite Meghada's protests about that being totally unnecessary, protests that were calmly ignored by sundry and all, and in the morning, a thorough perusal of the contents of that rather tattered and stained shopping bag.

The debriefing was done at the Mansion, Major Kevin Richards being told quite firmly that London HQ would NOT be an appropriate location. He understood more completely once he'd finished hearing the tale, finished questioning the only surviving kidnapper, though making that call that led to the arrest of the newest aide to the Special Forces division had been difficult. Removal of the bugs in his and three other offices had been highly embarrassing; seems that new aide was the one who'd been entrusted to sweeping those offices to look for such devices. Richards had rather liked the man, thought he had a great deal of potential. {"Obviously I was correct, just not in judging potential for what!"}

The death of four of the remaining five men was just a footnote to the file, though the condition of one of the men, the one called Billman, that had been slightly awkward. {"Lucky the medical examiner owes me a favor or two!"}

He had to admit his comfort level was not improved by the quietly matter-of-fact statement, "he used a knife to remove a couple of items from me, so I returned the favor," and the chill look of satisfaction on the redhead's face kept even the most bold of them from commenting; they remembered the state of Billman's body quite well; they had seen the bloody lock of hair, and Actor had described the crude cuts that had removed that rather unique ornament. Somehow, even more than that memory, or the look on the young woman's face, what really made them shudder? The grin of totally proud approval on their resident pickpocket's face.

"That's my 'Gaida!" came with a warm rich chuckle, and Casino looked at his best friend and his best friend's lady in total bewilderment, and just couldn't help himself.

"You're both nuts, you DO know that, right??!" and while that got a laugh from the rest of the team, still, pretty much all of them felt at least some level of agreement with that statement, though most would have couched the notion in slightly more diplomatic terms. The two in question, they just leaned into each other, totally comfortable with the general assessment. 

Christmas came, and the gifts were given, Goniff handing his over with a rather sheepish but eager expression when his turn came. Meghada had called in a favor or two of her own; what was lost was replaced without her making another trip to London; seems she'd rather lost her limited taste for shopping.

Actor got a pouch of his favorite tobacco and a new pipe of high quality, along with a pair of beautifully patterned ascots in a rich vibrant silk, woven in the rich colors of a Renaissance painting; the ones she'd bought originally had been used to staunch her own blood and were quite ruined.

Casino got an elegant set of stationery and an even more elegant fountain pen, and a finely-crafted lapdesk to keep them in; the tossing about had not damaged any of those, thankfully, since that lapdesk was an antique and had been the result of some rather intense bargaining with the reluctant shop owner, who was using it as a display and had not intended to sell it.

Garrison got a bottle of brandy, the quality of which had his eyebrows raised; luckily brandy came in a very thick bottle, and wasn't damaged by being shaken around so much. Actor took a look at that bottle, reached out and with Garrison's permission studied the label.

"Where on earth did you find this??!" he asked Goniff incredulously, only to get that smug grin and raised brow they were so familiar with. {"Must be something really special, just like I asked 'er to get, for Actor to look all impressed,"} making a mental note to thank her properly for that. He was still slightly embarrassed at the assumption he'd made when he'd read that note, seen the medallion.

The Sergeant Major seemed rather stunned by the heavy russet wool sweater, along with the warm and luxurious woven wool scarf and gloves and hat, "for when you're off duty, you know," came the earnest explanation, and Gil was touched; he hadn't know it was that obvious that he felt the cold almost as much as his slight countryman.

When it came time for Goniff to hand Chief HIS present, the slight Englishman glanced over at Meghada. She smiled encouragingly in return.

"Chief, I bloodied a part of Goniff's gift to you, I'm afraid, with that idiot in London. And the craftsman who made them, he didn't have another set in stock. It will take time for him to make another, but for now, this was intended for you; an unused set can be ordered to replace it if you prefer. I know a warrior's weapons traditionally should be first blooded by ritual by the one who will bear them," and Goniff handed over the leather case.

Chief opened it, to see the throwing blades, the stars, the points, the strange three bladed weapon that folded into a fan shape, the small sharpening stone with the special oil. He touched each one, withdrawing one from each type to feel them in his hand, spreading the curved blades of the latter.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to keep these. It would be an honor to have weapons initiated by a warrior."

And a bright grin crossed their pickpocket's face, "see, 'Gaida, TOLD you 'e wouldn't mind a bit of spilled blood on them, didn't I now?" and a pleased look crossed the redhead's face.

"Aye, love, so you did. And I'm sure he will put them to good use."

And the conversation turned to the unusual weapons and how they were to be used, and any tips she had for that. And she passed out the small baskets with their tins of cookies and nuts, and small crates of stuffed dates, and brought out the two truly fine bottles of whiskey she'd brought as presents, giving them with the traditional Clan greeting, "and may this make your celebration of your holiday brighter," and they all agreed her gifts truly would do that. 

He reached out to caress the metal medallion, now around her waist, held in place by a thin leather strap.

"Gonna get this put back?" he asked.

"I think so, but it will take time to heal enough, time enough too for the one who does such work to be finished with her contract and be available to re-do it." She frowned down at herself, "she might have to position it higher if there's too much scar tissue, though, and I was told that's not a good idea. Could get torn once . . ." and she glanced at him and flushed deeply before continuing "if there's ever a babe coming along," and his eyes widened as they met hers, thinking of that. "Well, there's always a wrist-band if she thinks it best," and they said no more on the subject, though perhaps that slight smile they exchanged said all there was to say.

He left her briefly, her curled up on the pillows and covered by the warm blankets, and came back with an envelope, a long flattish parcel wrapped in brown paper, and a larger silk wrapped box. She looked at him, inquiringly, to get that smile she loved, the one he seemed to keep just for her.

"Go on, 'Gaida. The envelope first," he urged her, and read the note from Mrs. Wilson, of Goniff's request to her earlier in the year, of the young plants grown from cuttings and now set aside in Mrs. Wilson's own growing area, ready to move to the Cottage when the time was right. She read the list with growing pleasure, six varieties she did not have in her own garden, six varieties she would be most pleased to add now, knowing they came from him. The parcel was next, containing plant tags for each of those varieties, metal with names carefully etched into them.

"Ben Miller 'as a brother who does that sort of thing," her Englishman explained eagerly. And she reached out to give him a warm hug, which he accepted with a chuckle and returned just as eagerly.

"Now, the last; it's the big one; found it, well," and he grinned at her, "sort of found it, on that mission in Brussels. 'eaded for 'immler's collection, it was, according to that Gestapo major. Thought of you right off," pushing the box into her lap. She opened it carefully, and her lips parted in shock as she beheld it in all its wonder.

"It's magnificent," she whispered, her eyes huge.

"It's that, right enough; told you I thought of you soon as I saw it!" he explained eagerly.

Her fingers traced the outlines, taking in all the details of the graceful and intricately carved carnelian dragon, the places where the red flowed almost to black, the jeweled eyes and claws. It was old, so very old, so powerful, so beautiful. Maybe, someday, when it was safe, she'd convince him it belonged in a museum, but for now, it was hers. And even more important, of more value to her, HE was hers; she had only to look at his eyes to know that, and knew she'd been given the rarest of treasures, and she'd never discount that treasure, never take it for granted. Dragons guarded their treasures, esteemed their treasures highly, and she was no different from any other of her kind, not in that regard.

And when the one who'd originally attached her medallion was free, and when Meghada had healed, they sat and talked and considered. And the leather-worker was consulted, and the metal-worker, and Meghada was well content. For now there was a leather collar that allowed her to wear her medallion at her neck, and another to allow her to wear it at her wrist, though she would rarely do either, for there was an option she liked much better, found most pleasing. Now there were new piercings, complete with small rings and finely crafted chains that allowed the medallion to hang just below her navel. And Goniff could finally admit that, yes, he had missed running his thumb over that symbol of all that she was, his Lady, his Dragon.


End file.
